


The Kirkwall Bookstore

by ruthmakesstuff (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, bipolar!Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ruthmakesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela drags Hawke into the nearest bookstore to check out the cute guy who works there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Remind me exactly why I’m coming with you to watch you blow a load of money on textbooks?” Hawke asked Isabela.

“Because,” Isabela said, knowingly, “there is a guy working there who is _just_ your type. Tall, blonde, kind of intense? Always reading books on that social justice-y stuff you won’t shut up about. Though, granted, a lot of queer lit too, so you may not be _his_ type. But hell, you can always ogle from a distance.”

“I’ve been single for too long if I’m agreeing to this,” Hawke said, with a sigh. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

They ended the bookshop, which was a bit of an oddity. The architecture seemed to switch era from section to section – the feminist literature section was shiny and new looking (and comfortingly large, Hawke thought), and the art section was all full of beams and creaky wooden floorboards. It was kind of quirky and interesting, and the staff were too.

Isabela dived in, looking for the texts she needed for cultural anthropology. Hawke was left browsing the politics section until she saw the guy that Isabela had been talking about. He _was_ her type: tall, like Isabela had said, and kind of scruffy, but in a charming way. He had a single gold earring, too. Hawke didn’t usually like piercings on men, but he managed to pull it off, somehow. He was wearing a leather jacket that did _not_ look like it was part of the uniform, and – was that eyeliner? He reminded Hawke of her days of lusting after band members when she was younger.

The books he was carrying looked pretty interesting too – there were authors she recognised, like bell hooks, but others who looked unfamiliar, with interesting titles. She wasn’t 100% sure he should have been reading during work hours, but with his head down in a book she had a better opportunity to check him out without him noticing.

Or so she thought – she suddenly noticed that he was grinning at his book, and without lifting his head he looked up at her. Despite the subtle movement, if he was trying for discretion, he was failing. The eyeliner only served to emphasise his glance.

“Can I help you?” he asked, smiling.

“Um,” said Hawke, trying to think on her feet. “I was just looking.”

“Yes, you were,” he said, teasingly.

“At, uh, this!” she said, pulling out the nearest book: ‘The Ethical Slut’.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly comment.”

Hawke turned bright red. “I’m a Criminology student,” she added, as if that explained it.

“Hawke!” Isabela cried, suddenly appearing. “I’m done here. We can go now, unless..?”

“No, no. We can go. It’s fine,” Hawke said, hurriedly.

“Ooh, ‘The Ethical Slut’. I’ve read that. It’s pretty good – bit old, now, but generally sound.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s leave. Now.”

“Do you not want me to ring that up for you?” Anders asked.

“Shit, yeah. Um. Yes.” Hawke prayed it wasn’t too expensive.

He rang up the book, and Hawke paid with her card without paying attention to the price. Leaving the shop, she checked the receipt to see how much she’d lost, and found that the guy’s name next to the little “you were served by” printout was Anders. There was also, scrawled in an untidy hand, a phone number.

She guessed she’d have to go back, then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke sends the first text.

Hawke didn’t know whether to do that thing where you wait three days before texting someone or not. Isabela was telling her to play it cool, but her friend Merrill was giddy with excitement and wanted them to book a wedding venue already. What could she even _say_ anyway?

“Sorry you caught me checking you out.”

“Nice eyeliner.”

“Nice earring.”

“Nice _face_.”

“Nice body”? She couldn’t really tell what was underneath the oversized leather jacket. And she was getting carried away with herself – none of these were appropriate first texts.

“Hey, it’s Hawke, you gave me your number?” What if he gave his number to loads of girls? What even made her think he’d remember her?

“Hey, it’s Hawke, you gave me your number? I bought ‘The Ethical Slut’, if you’ve forgotten me.” No, no. She did not want to remind him about ‘The Ethical Slut’. She hadn’t taken it out of her bag, yet. It might have to stay there forever.

“Hey, it’s Hawke, you gave me your number? We bumped into each other in the Politics section.” Much better. Okay, she thought. She could send that.

The reply came after a few minutes: “Hey Hawke. Enjoying the book? Anders x”

Ooh, a kiss? Really? But more importantly: the book. What was she meant to say about it? She took it out of her bag and opened it to a random page.

_”It felt so wonderful that she concluded that the existence of her clitoris was proof positive that God loved her.”_

Maybe not her kind of book. (A kiss, though. A _kiss_.)

“How about I lend it to you and we can have a good ol’ book club about it?” She hesitated, then put an ‘x’ at the end.

“Read it. Have a couple of poly friends, we did a queer book club thing. Thought it was okay x”

Queer. Okay. So Isabela may not have been off the mark, then. She bit the bullet for her next text.

“You poly then? Or some other flavour of LGBT? x”

“B x”

Okay, she thought. Still available, potentially. If he’s single. How does she find that out without being painfully unsubtle? Alternately, she could choose to screw subtlety.

“B for boyfriend? Or b-girlfriend, I guess. That’s a word, now x”

“Haha, no, single. You think a b-girlfriend would be happy with me giving my number to beautiful girls at work? x”

“Hey, you could be a scoundrel x” she shot back, silently acknowledging the compliment.

“Not a scoundrel. Let me buy you a coffee and prove it x”

The guy was forward, certainly. That much she could have ascertained from writing his number down on the receipt, but now he’d flat out asked her out.

“Coffee at the bookshop? I’ll swing by tomorrow x”

“Cutting into my work hours, tut tut. I’ll be there x”

Hawke put her phone away, grinning. This had all gone better than expected.


	3. Chapter 3

They’d been sitting together and talking for a while when Anders asked, “So, read anything good lately?”

The bookshop had an adjoining coffee shop, and Anders had managed to slip away for a couple of minutes under the guise of ‘getting something from the back’. The stock room and the café were nowhere near each other, but quite honestly the shop was incredibly lax, and he was fairly sure if he got caught he could get away with “fine, there was a cute girl I wanted to talk to”. They already let him get away with reading all the books, anyway, so long as he didn’t break the spines or leave them dog-eared.

“Aside from ‘The Ethical Slut’?” she laughed. “I recently read ‘Madness Explained’ by Richard Bentall, and I thought that was… interesting?” Hawke realised that a book about psychosis wasn’t really everybody’s cup of tea, and didn’t want to cause the conversation to crash and burn, but her mind drew a blank when she tried to remember any other book she’d read – she didn’t think that one sentence about ‘clitoris-as-proof-of-God’s-love” counted.

“Bit out there for a Criminology student, no?” Anders said, raising his eyebrows in surprise and leaning forward in his chair.

“Oh what, because I can’t have any interests outside my academic field?” Hawke said, sardonically, raising her eyebrows right back at him. “Besides, there’s a _huge_ issue with the criminalisation of the mentally ill – it’s like if we’re not institutionalising them one way we’re doing it in another,” she added. Anders remained surprised, usually the only people familiar with this guy were studying mental health. Granted, he only worked in a bookshop, so he was already an exception to the rule, but he had done a year of his Psychology degree before dropping out. Formal academia wasn’t really made for people like him, but he still looked on enviously at the new students buying their textbooks each year.

“And the threat of institutionalisation is _so_ coercive!” he said, pulling his chair closer to the table between them. “Like, that was another thing Bentall wrote – coercion is a necessary tool, but it’s abused. I remember when I –” he stopped, abruptly. “Anyway. I like Bentall. Did you see the bit he put about why it’s so difficult to run tests on manic bipolar people?” he added, with a grin.

“Yes! Because it’s so hard to get them to sit still long enough. I shouldn’t have laughed at that, but it was a pretty funny image,” Hawke said. She realised she was leaning across the table, and a little closer to him than she should have been. She sat up straight, and looked around nonchalantly.

“Yeah no it made me laugh, and I – shit, is that the time already?” he’d started saying it before he even checked the time, but it actually was time for him to leave and do some actual work. “It’s been great seeing you – let’s do this again sometime, yeah?” he said, pulling out his chair and getting up to leave.

“Yeah, sure,” Hawke said, “this was nice,” she said, gathering her things to leave too.

She returned to the main part of the shop, perusing the books for a while so she didn’t look so blatantly like she’d only turned up to see him. Though that _may_ have been given away by the fact that she did actually text him that morning to double check he was working that day. Ah well, she thought. He was nice. Perhaps someday she’d text him to arrange a meeting _outside_ the bookshop.


	4. Chapter 4

“It was nice seeing you today x”

The text tone startled Anders, who had a book on his mind. ‘Mad in America’, this time. He usually preferred his psych texts written by actual psychologists (or even better, psychiatric consumers), but for a book by a journalist it wasn’t too awful – if somewhat sensationalist. He wondered if he should recommend the book to Hawke, or if she’d catch on that his interest in psychology happened to be more than academic.

This was a sticking point for Anders. He spoke without thinking, a lot of the time – he’d nearly slipped up while talking to her earlier. He didn’t feel ashamed, so he spoke about his illness easily among people who were aware of it. There was a difference between that, though, and disclosing it to someone he’d just met.

“You too. Sorry for abrupt end. Work x”

He always wrote brief texts. He remembered having a phone as a teenager that charged you for every certain number of characters, and the habit of brevity that enforced kind of stuck with him. He worried that he came across as rude, or blunt, but nobody had ever told him as much, so he took it as given that people accepted it. It struck him as ironic – he liked to talk somebody’s ear off in person if they let him.

“Maybe we can meet one day while you’re not working? x”

“But then why would I be at the bookshop x” he sent back.

“Witty –and- handsome! We could (shock horror) meet outside the bookshop? x” Whenever someone commented on his wit he always thought of that song – “I feel pretty, and witty, and gay”. Though Hawke knew he liked women (and, well, her), the song probably wasn’t the best thing to reference. He wasn’t sure if she’d be weirded out by his equal opportunities approach to romance or not. She hadn’t said anything either way.

He would find out: “The Jolly Sailor? x” The Jolly Sailor was a local gay bar. He’d be throwing her into the deep end somewhat, but it would be fun whatever happened. If she freaked, there would be someone to cheer him up.

“Sure! Meet you there at 9? x”

“Sure, see you then x”  
 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders meets Hawke at the gay bar.

Of all the things Anders expected from meeting Hawke at The Jolly Sailor, her being with a gaggle of friends was not one of them.

“Are introductions in order?” he asked, walking up to them.

“Oh! Anders! Yes! Hello!” she said back, as if surprised to see him. “Right, Isabela’s the one dressed up as a pirate, Merrill’s the one with – Merrill, show him your tattoos,” (Merrill obliged, rolling up her sleeves to reveal intricate swirls) “Merrill’s the one with the tattoos, and this is Fenris, who is moody today.”

“Fenris is moody _every_ day,” Isabela pointed out.

“Oh hush,” said Hawke. “Be friends! And everyone, this is Anders.”

Isabela gave a smile, Merrill a little wave, and Fenris a very slight nod.

The tables had been thoroughly turned – far from his worry about making Hawke feel weird or uncomfortable, she seemed more at ease in this place than he was, now. There were a lot of new people around – he was out of his element.

“So Hawke tells me you’re a big reader? As in – you like reading. Not that you’re big. You’re adequately sized! I’m babbling. Sorry,” Merrill said, ducking her head and blushing.

Anders took to her instantly. “Yeah, I am! I’m partway through this book, ‘Mad in America’, and-” he was interrupted by a disgusted noise from Fenris, who was looking at Anders through narrowed eyes. “Uh, problem?” he directed towards his moody acquaintance.

“Well it’s all bullshit, isn’t it? We should just lock them up, and anyone who says otherwise is deluded. The mentally ill are _dangerous_.”

“Well,” said Anders, trying to work out how best to be diplomatic. Then he decided not to. “I mean, neurodivergent people are more likely to be victims of violence and aggression than they are to be perpetrators, and there’s this _huge_ issue of institutional abuse, and there’s this really unhealthy unbalanced relationship between health providers and psychiatric consumers, and –”

“’Sall bullshit,” Fenris said, before taking a drink and turning away.

Fenris was clearly not in a position to argue, but being around someone who so vocally hated people like him made Anders really uncomfortable and anxious.

“Fenris is a moody drunk,” Isabela reassured him. “I wouldn’t listen to anything he says.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Anders said lightly, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. If this was the company Hawke kept, did she feel the same way?

The rest of the evening went uneventfully, though Isabela almost constantly made innuendos and crude references. The rest of the group took this well though – it was just part of her charm. Hawke became increasingly giggly with each reference, and with each drink.

Fenris didn’t speak another word to him – or anyone else. He drank plentifully, and glowered in the direction of anyone who looked like they had more fun than him, which meant everyone.

Hawke apologised for his demeanour, which seemed unnecessary in Anders’s eyes – it wasn’t her fault. “He’s a guy I know from the LGBTSoc – like Merrill. She and Izzy dragged him out hoping he was more fun drunk than he is on coffee. We have learned, now, that he is not,” she said. “They were already here when I got here,” she added, “it’s their usual Friday night out.”

“Right. So are you..?” he asked, trailing off

“Gay? And leading you on? No. Izzy dragged me along as an ‘ally’, mostly because the café where they do the weekly meetups has _incredible_ chips. And this place is cool, don’t you think?” she said.

Anders looked around. The walls were lime green, there were fish tanks up the wall, and the edges of the room were lined with scarlet sofas. “Cool” was not the word he would describe it with. He wouldn’t even describe it as “nautical”, despite the name “The Jolly Sailor”.

“Well, something like that?” he said.

She nudged him, smiling. “It’s awful and I love it. Shush.”

The combination of Fenris’s attitude and the effect drinking had on him made him feel too anxious and out of it to respond to her properly, offering only a weak smile.

“How about a change of scene?” he said, desperately. “You think the bookshop has books, you should see my flat.”

Hawke read it that the ‘come see my books’ thing was a ruse, but she was okay with that. She’d had a lot to drink, and he seemed ever more handsome in the dim lighting of the bar. Grasping his hand, she dragged him to the nearby taxi rank. She hadn’t _read_ ‘The Ethical Slut’, but she assumed it would approve.


	6. Chapter 6

While pulling up to the entrance of his flat, Anders became very concerned. Hawke spent the entire taxi journey playing with his hands and kissing him on the cheek – and in one mis-aimed instance, the neck. He had honestly just wanted to get away, and foolishly didn’t consider the implications. Now they were going to be in his flat alone together – his flatmate, Justice, was away travelling until… some time. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back.

Anders didn’t really know what his next step should be.

An episode was definitely coming on – he really wasn’t supposed to drink. Alcohol and a bipolar brain was a horrible bad no-good combination. He kind of wanted to get rid of Hawke and maybe go to bed, or listen to some music and vegetate, but that would be rude.

They walked in, and he realised how absolutely filthy the place was. That made him feel worse. His flat was a pit, he _didn’t_ want to sleep with the beautiful girl he’d brought home with him, and there was a plushie cat called Mr Cuddles sitting on the bed even if he did. He looked like such a prat – what 20-something-year-old sleeps with a cuddly toy?

Hawke immediately placed herself on the sofa and patted the space beside her. He sat down with her, and she leaned in for the kiss. She wasn’t horrifically drunk, or even close, but she’d clearly had some Dutch courage and felt a lot more confident than usual. In any other context, he’d be thrilled with a girl being that openly interested in him, but now it just made him want to cry.

Here he was, with an attractive girl in his flat who _wanted_ him, and all he could do was self-consciously ruminate. His flat was a mess. He probably stank of alcohol, which he was an idiot to have been drinking anyway. She was a university student, and he was a dropout who worked in a bookshop. He was worthless, and would never amount to anything, and he just wished the world would end, right there. It was the only way he could see that he could get out of that situation.

He pulled away from her before she made contact.

“I’m sorry I’m just – I’m not feeling it,” he said.

“Oh,” said Hawke, simply. “Should I..?”

“Go? No, no, you don’t have to. I’ll make us some tea,” he said, too polite to ask her to leave.

As he got to the kettle, the door opened.

“Fuck, Justice! You’re back!" Anders cried.

“Yep. My days of building houses for Namibian orphans are over for the year,” Justice said.

“Great. Listen mate – I’m feeling a bit shite, so give me the stories another time, yeah?” Anders said.

“Sure thing,” Justice replied.

Justice looked at Hawke. Anders could see him sizing up the situation, and realising that Anders was uncomfortable with her there.

“Hey, uh, lady? Maybe you should leave. I’ve got this,” Justice said.

Anders felt Hawke looking at him, but he just stared at the floor, uncomfortably.

“I’ll show myself out then,” she said, and she left.

Anders felt horrible, but Justice had said what he couldn’t have, and the two men knew it.


	7. Chapter 7

“So, tell us _everything_ ,” Isabela said, rubbing her hands together gleefully.

Hawke laughed bitterly. “There’s nothing to tell – he backed down, and then his flatmate kicked me out.”

“His flatmate kicked you _out_?” Merrill asked, incredulous.

“Yep! And Anders obviously hasn’t mentioned me to him at all, because he just called me ‘lady’. As in ‘uh, lady, I think you should leave’,” Hawke said. “Prick,” she added, vehemently.

“Oh hun, I’m so sorry,” Isabela said. “Do you know why he backed down?”

“He was being all mopey, and he told Justice he was feeling shite. I don’t know _why_ he was sad though. Maybe he’s just a miserable drunk.” Hawke said.

“’Justice’?” Merrill said, stifling a giggle.

“Great name, I know.” Hawke said.

Just then, Hawke’s phone vibrated against the table they were sitting at. It was Anders.

“Don’t answer it,” Isabela said.

“No, give him another chance!” Merrill said.

“I’ll just read it, okay?” Hawke said, picking it up.

“So sorry about last night. I feel horrible about how we left things. Working today, but if you swing by bookshop we can talk? xx” the text read.

Hawke decidedly put her phone back on the table, face down.

* * *

Hawke wasn’t quite sure how she found herself back in The Kirkwall Bookstore. Merrill was a bad influence on her, she supposed. She was so optimistic so much of the time, and a real hopeless romantic.

She remembered seeing how Anders was when she saw him in the bookshop before – confident and cocksure. Far from the guy she left staring at his floor the night before. She wasn’t sure why she was giving him a second chance, but she hoped he’d make good use of it.

“I’m here” she texted, abstaining from any of the kisses that he’d put two of in his last text.

The reply was instant. “Meet me in coffee shop xx”

She met him there, and he immediately opened with, “I’m so sorry,” while still standing. Hawke sat, and fixed him with a disapproving look.

He sat down, and immediately started shredding the label of the drink bottle that had been left there by the patrons before them.

“This isn’t an excuse, but it’s a reason: I’m bipolar,” he rushed, voice shaking. “And drinking isn’t great for the depressive shit, and what your friend Fenris said to me _certainly_ wasn’t great for it either, and the combination of the two just made me feel like crap, and I actually do fancy you, I promise,” he continued, all in one breath.

“Because that’s how a girl feels, fancied, when a guy leads her on to his flat and then won’t let her kiss him,” Hawke said, partly teasing. There was a pause, and then she registered the first part of his sentence. She sighed. “God, Fenris must have made you feel bad though, if you’re, y’know.”

“I am ‘y’know’, yeah. And it was stupid of me to drink, and stupid of me to let that guy wind me up, and stupid of me not to think about the implications of inviting you back with me. So I’m ‘y’know’, and I’m stupid,” Anders said, his leg drumming under the table. He was still pulling at the bottle label, staring fixatedly at it instead of looking at Hawke.

Hawke looked at him for a long time, prompting him to make eye contact. “It’s okay,” she said, gently. “You’re forgiven.”

He broke into a relieved smile. It was sweet and puppylike, and Hawke felt a swell of affection for him.

She leaned over the table for a kiss, and this time, he didn’t back away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends with a kiss! Back in the bookshop where it all began.
> 
> This isn't the _end_ end though - I like this universe, so expect to see the odd ficlet set in it here and there.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
